Broken
by AcidxQuill
Summary: Dark days have risen, and war has begun. Draco must unmask a secret in order to save the wizarding world from it's ghastly fate. And with the help of one man and the hope of everyone else, can the wizarding world be freed from it's exile? *WARNING, SLASH*
1. Distortion from the Average

Broken  
By Angel Of Music  
  
Author's Note: The following story is not, by any means, my interpretation of what will occur in JK Rowling's books. I am simply writing this piece of the sheer interest in the couple, and the idea is nothing I believe will be affiliated with the books. This story is SLASH. If you do not like slash, please do not read this, because you will not like it. If you are exploring the world of slash as a rookie, please feel free to read ahead. I was more focused on the plot then on the actual couple of Snape/Draco, and I feel that the following story is one of passion, desire, hatred, fear, savagery, and so on. I reiterate, if you are not partial to slash PLEASE don't read on, for your benefit. Thank you for your cooperation! I hope you enjoy it.  
-Angel Of Music   
  
Chapter One: Distortion from the Average  
  
He ran his fingers down the abridged pane of the algid window, following the shallow drops of rain with his breathtakingly pale knuckles. The perpetual showers of autumn had begun to irk at him, causing him brainless enmity. He was now rather bothered by the once-amusing storms, for it seemed that it had poured all summer and now it was creeping into the fall. He frowned as his vision was blocked by a proportional splatter, and took the moment to run a hand through his glassy, silver blonde hair. He bit his lip as he traced the streaking droplet with his eyes. Muttering softly to himself, he gave up on attempting to stare thoughtlessly into oblivion, and threw himself onto his four poster. Up heaving a great sigh, Draco Malfoy set his head on his pillow and shut his bright chrome eyes.   
  
After a moment, without the intention of doing so, he stood sharply, allowing the thin, woven quilt to fall soundlessly from his lap. He pressed his trembling palm against his warm forehead, swiping the glittering perspiration from his brow. He deftly shook his head as he strode listlessly past a pewter-framed mirror, scoffing as his reflection hit the glass. As he slowly put a hand to the stout doorknob before him, he inclined backwards, catching his profile in the dreary reflector for a second time. He had to give himself some credit, he considered. After all, he hadn't slept in a few days, and dreariness was beginning to shine dutifully in his grim pupils. On the other hand, he rendered, he looked pretty damn good for a sleepless lug, and a small smirk tugged at his thin, ashen lips. His normal sleek, stiff hair had worn down from lack of preparation, and now thick, sterling locks rained down across his face like branches from trees. He narrowed his eyes and drew himself reluctantly from the mirror image.   
  
It was a rather boring day in his seventeenth year, and perhaps due to his lack of sleep, a very languid day. He shook off a pang of fatigue as he sluggishly made his way down into the Slytherin common room, cursing as he tripped down the last few stairs. He blinked roughly, engaging in an attempt to speculate the morning scene; Slytherins were naturally not morning people. Well, in all fairness, Slytherins were not truly anything people. Especially Draco Malfoy.   
  
Draco barked hellos to a few stray greeters, and pushed his way through the thick, bustling crowd. He really wasn't in the mood for social interaction; then again, was he ever? He bowed his head and shivered away the foreboding feeling that was creeping through his blood. He exited the common room roughly.   
  
He hadn't made it very far down the dank, sparsely lit corridors when two gruff, extremely irritating voices called forth, penetrating the nearly-soothing silence with their annoying tones.  
  
"Oy, Draco!" Draco frowned, cringing slightly.  
  
"Ah, my two very ardent followers." Draco muttered to himself, tapping his dragon-hide boot against the cold stone floor.   
  
"Want to wait up, then?" Questioned one of the voices again, sending another chill through Draco's bones.  
  
"Not particularly!" He called after his disciples, stifling an enormously shrewd eye-roll. "But I'm guessing I haven't a choice?" He asked, his wit taking the better of him. Two great oafs of human beings waddled up to the sleek blonde boy in potent disarray.   
  
"What are you talking about?" Groaned one, namely Vincent Crabbe. Draco raised his eyebrows.   
  
"It'll do no good explaining to you." He retorted irritably. The other, Gregory Goyle, shook his head.  
  
"So you're going for breakfast, then?" He wondered aloud, once again provoking Draco's annoyance.   
  
"Yes," He sighed curtly, met with the familiar glutinous smirks of his large partisans. He let out a very audible exhale and continued to follow the hallway in which led to the great hall. His brief encounter with his makeshift friends could have cost him an entire day of being followed and inspected. He groaned as he thought of this. It wasn't as if Crabbe and Goyle weren't perfectly kind to him, it was simply that their kindness was more of a worship then anything. It was as if, though Draco was smaller, a few months younger, and much weaker than they, Draco was their leader; their monarch. They fed upon his very happiness, and this was what bothered the small Slytherin immensely. Sure, they were useful in frightening small first-years, but beyond that, they were simply a great nuisance. He beat his thoughts from his mind as he entered the humongous room; his destination, and proceeded to make his way towards the Slytherin table, suddenly extremely famished.   
  
He sat as Crabbe and Goyle took their places on either side of him. He pretended to ignore this, building up his usual, visible facade of emotionless, stoic attitudes. Then, sneering at a passing Gryffindor, he watched as a barricade of swooping owls showered over the great hall, once again allowing for scattered gasps of awe. Draco was used to this action by now, yet he was uncharacteristically startled by a rather attractive one landing gracefully before him. He inhaled shortly and unfolded a small piece of parchment that had been wound with string about the owl's talon.  
  
Mr. Malfoy,  
Your detention will take place tomorrow evening at nine o'clock in the dungeons with Professor Snape. You will be assisting him in his annual cleaning of the cabinets, and should be prepared for a rather long night of wandless polishing. Please do not bring anything but a rag and a bit of elbow grease.  
Sincerely,  
Professor M. McGonagall.  
  
Draco, nearly forgetting about his untimely fist fight the previous week with Ron Weasley, let out a sincerely bothered groan. He cursed out the Transfiguration teacher for giving him such a pesky punishment. Though, perhaps, he considered, it would not be so bad, for Snape seemed to go quite easy on Draco when reprimanding him. He bit his lip and stuck a stout fork into a large pile of hash browns that had most suddenly appeared on his plate.   
  
Breakfast lately had been rather unusual. Dumbledore, whom usually accompanied the students to dine in the morning, had taken leave for a while. Ever since the war had begun, however, this was quite common, but more recently the headmaster was even more busy then he had ever been. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, required timeless assistance, and Dumbledore happened to be his favorite source of help.  
  
The fighting had been brutal, to say the very least. Thousands of muggle-born wizards and witches had perished, and not yet had a single ally of Voldemort passed. Those whom remained neutral had also fallen, for the Dark Lord demolished nearly everything in his path. The deaths were beginning to become redundant; it was the same news every day. It was either a relative, friend, or enemy of someone or another in Hogwarts that had died. Draco was beginning to become rather sick of it.   
  
He sighed and returned to his breakfast.  
* * *   
He was damp. His whole body was frigid. Something was wrong. He tried to stand, but found he could not. Darkness reigned overhead, a blanket of shadow over his trembling torso. Was it rain that made his skin so wet?   
  
His eyes fluttered open, and he desperately searched for the source of the moisture. A placid figure stood before him, just above him, out of reach. And the character was weeping. Tears fell from his black eyes and onto Draco. The figure was enthralling. Finally finding the power within himself, Draco got to his feet.   
  
He felt much heavier; like his legs were composed of stone. He blinked rapidly a few times, clearing the droplets of water from them, and was suddenly compelled to embrace the figure. When he had done so, he felt the person's arms wrap needingly around his waist.   
  
It was then it began to rain heavily. Thunder clapped overhead like a sudden burst of applause, startling both Draco and the dark man. They both looked skyward, their expressions twisted into one's of remorse, then glanced back at one another. The moonlit sky was hidden beneath the seemingly sudden sheets of rain, and it was nearly impossible to see through the opaque, aphotic air. A lock of hair fell into the boy's eyes, but he did not bother to brush it aside. He was more interested in the character, whom had just turned his back to him. He put a hand upon the figure's shoulder to show his curiosity. When the strange person pivoted back, Draco took his hand.  
  
"Who are you?" He asked, nearly inaudibly. The response did not come. Instead, the figure leaned forward and brought his lips to the boy's. Instead of crying out, or struggling to free himself, Draco pulled into the kiss, both beings struggling for control. The vivid thrashing of tongue and trading of saliva aroused the blonde boy, and a low moan escaped his throat. Wrapping his arms tighter around the figure's neck, he managed to mumble, "Please, who-what- are you?" As the character open his mouth to reply, a streak of lightening illuminated the massacre in the sky, and Draco jumped. "What?" He cried softly. He was suddenly not under the stormy horizon anymore, but perched thoughtfully on top of the highest astronomy tower in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "An illusion..." he muttered, shutting his eyes solemnly. "It was all an illusion..." He peered out into the black evening, briefly pondering what time it was.  
  
Draco most always came to the astronomy tower at night. Not to think, but to clear his mind of thought completely. It was the only possible thing he could do now, for since the war had begun, there had been nothing but death, hatred, prejudice, chaos and deluge. Out in the darkness, he could erase subconscious thought and focus on the placid and serene sounds of the evening. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket buzzed it's nightly song, and above, an owl hooted mournfully. A grim smile played upon Draco's lips momentarily, and he inhaled deeply, lying down.  
  
The sky itself was enough to wipe out thought. The stars near Hogwarts were amazingly clear when the candles had died, and they reminded Draco of himself: mysterious, dark, unappreciated, lonely, imperfect, yet beautiful in their own way. The way they shone breathlessly upon the castle reminded the boy of the life he once knew, before all of the warring had begun. The days when insults were his biggest entertainment. Yet now, even bothering the Gryffindors had lost it's charm.  
  
All he knew was that he was slowly withering into worthlessness. He had no one he could trust anymore, no one whom even cared. All of that was gone. Diminished. Lost. Hidden now amongst the stars. He just wanted to die, to end the misery, to tell the world he had given up! It would be so simple, just a quick swipe of a dagger, or an unforgivable curse to the chest...but it wasn't all as easy as it seemed. His death would mark the commencement of a series of rather unearthly, wild, and horrifying circumstances. At the moment, thinking of them was even a horrible thing. All that he knew was, if he killed himself, things would become worse. Much worse. And though he certainly would not be around to witness it, he felt sorry for all the people who would. And Draco Malfoy never felt sorry. That was simply how awful things would get. Exhaling, he turned onto his side, suddenly not very interested in the stars anymore.  
  
"Comfortable, Mister Malfoy?" Came an icy voice. Draco's head shot forward violently, aware he was being watched.  
  
"How long have you been there?" He asked quickly, throwing his robes over his shoulder and standing.  
  
"I don't think you should be concerned with that, Draco, the question is, how long have you been here?"   
  
"Since dinner." He confessed, brushing a tendril of hair from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Professor." Professor Severus Snape glared at his student sulkily. "How, if I may ask, did you know I was up here?"  
  
"I didn't." Admitted the teacher, narrowing his eyes. "I was doing my nightly drills." He paused and looked upward. "Mister Malfoy, I believe you are already serving a detention with me tomorrow evening, is that correct?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Well, we wouldn't want to add an extra, now would we? Please, don't let me catch you up here again at these hours, do you hear?"  
"Yes sir, thank you, sir."   
  
"I advise you get back to your common room at once. I will assist you." Draco followed the man to the stairwell and watched as the man picked up a lit candle from the ground. Looping his index finger through the handle, Snape began, "You come here often, don't you, Mister Malfoy?" It was no use lying, Draco thought. They began to stroll soundlessly.  
  
"Sometimes. It's an, er, enlightening area." Snape nodded, as is silently agreeing, but said nothing for a moment. They passed a portrait of a tiny man in a top hat, snoozing quietly, then a suit of Armour. They were completely speechless for a long while, but it was peaceful, not uncomfortable.  
  
"It's the war, isn't it?" Asked Snape slowly, his cold, cruel voice still overly present. It was almost as if the professor was mocking Draco's words.  
  
"Somewhat." Draco promised as they slowly made their way down a flight of steps. After a few turns, Snape coughed,   
  
"I'll leave you here." And he departed. Draco entered the common room and lethargically went up to the boy's dormitory.   
  
He sat upon his four poster, lost in apparent thought, and peered over to his dresser. Perched upon the prepossessing cherry surface was an even more attractive pewter dagger, adorned in emeralds and intertwining snakes. He idolized it for a moment, then picked it up. Rolling up his sleeve inaudibly, he brought the thin blade to his wrist and swiped.  
* * *  
Draco's foot was tapping, though he didn't seem to notice. It was already late afternoon, and he was itching to complete potions so that he could once again retreat to the astronomy tower. After all, it wasn't completely illegal during day time. There were only a few moments left of the class, and Snape was proposing something about gillyweed.  
  
"I want you all to write a 3 foot essay on the potions gillyweed can be used in, due Monday." The class groaned as the bell chimed it's signature jingle. "Mister Malfoy, I'd like to see you after class, please." The entirety of the remaining students in the classroom let out stout, muffled laughter and mocking moans. Draco frowned, knowing it was not possible that he was in any sort of trouble. His thoughts drifted to the realization that it could be about his detention later that evening. Curious, he shoved "1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi" into his bag and retreated to the front of the classroom.   
  
"Professor?"  
  
"Mister Malfoy, I never want you up in that tower again. You must promise me you will never go there." The boy felt his jaw drop, for that place was seemingly his only refuge from the painful atrocity of life.   
  
"Sir, but why?"  
  
"It's a dangerous place. That's all I can say." It was true that there were no railings about the tower, but by the tone in his voice, Draco did not seem to think that Snape was speaking of heights. Not wishing to push his professor much further, he began shakily,  
  
"Spare me, professor, you must realize that the astronomy tower is my only-"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know that! I myself once lost myself in thought there! But if you're wise, you won't return. It's a personal matter, Mister Malfoy, and if you would please stop prying-"  
  
"I never intended to pry, sir." He interrupted quickly. "I just mean to say that, I'm not sure there'd be any other place I could go to clear my mind." He didn't know what his teacher was playing at, but whatever it happened to be, it was pestering him. "I apologize if you thought I was being nosy."  
  
"Well, you can't help that if you're anything like your father."  
  
"I'm nothing like my father." He responded darkly, his eyebrows lowered and his eyes filled with malice. "Absolutely nothing."  
  
"I beg to differ, Draco. Much like your father, you are stoic. Emotionless. It is plain."  
  
"I'm sorry, professor, how is this relevant?"  
  
"I'm not sure. It's simply that you and he need to find your likenesses." Pausing, he turned and began to neaten a shelf of small cauldrons behind his desk. "Have you ever seen your fathers wrists?" He pondered aloud after a moment. Contemplating this, Draco came to the realization that he could not think of a single time when he had.  
  
"You know something, I don't really think so..." he started, disbelievingly. "No, I don't think I have- he's either wearing sleeves or cuffs, it's very peculiar if you ask me. What could be beneath the attire?"  
  
"Scars." Snape whispered, asphyxiating a shudder. The boy stood completely rigid, attempting to take in what his professor was telling him.  
  
"Scars?" He repeated, narrowing his eyes. The man nodded and proceeded.  
  
"Your father and I happened to be, er, acquainted back in school. I know his habits. I followed his flaws. I tried to stop him but..." He trailed off, a look of sheer terror upon his face. Draco had never seen Snape look frightened. Bringing a palm to his forehead, he sighed, "He too was taught to avoid pain, just like you. But that doesn't mean his habits were justified, do you understand that, Mister Malfoy?" He cried, a bit more frantically then Draco thought he intended.   
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"I therefore want to you roll your sleeves up and show me what is beneath them." He hesitated for a moment, but then did as he was told. Snape stared down upon the massive amount of scars that littered Draco's wrists. He shook his head. "That is very bad for you, you know?"  
  
"I do." He replied, nodding.   
  
"You also know that there's a potion that will quicken the healing process?" He added as he noted the dried blood covering a few of the slices.   
  
"I did not." Draco answered, trying to look very interested, but not succeeding.  
  
"If you wish, I will brew some for you. It will be ready by this evening's detention." The boy glanced upward, for anything to partially hide his cuts from his father would most certainly help him. His father would probably go semi-insane, really, if he had known. Anything to shorten the boy's life expectancy would truly make the man mad, for as stated earlier, the death of Draco would begin to cause anarchy.  
  
"That would be great." He responded with a sneer.  
* * *  
"Good Evening, Mister Malfoy." The signature cold voice of the potions Professor came. "I've got the potion ready, if you wish." The chrome-haired boy entered the classroom sullenly. "Come." Following his teacher's voice, he blindly trailed after Snape, who led him into the private quarters, which were just beyond the classroom wall. "We cannot let anyone know that I am medically treating you. Mind, the only reason why I am defying Dumbledore is simply because I know how your father is."  
  
"Thank you." Draco muttered, pulling his sleeves upward. Snape too rolled the sleeves of his robes up and dunked a woven cotton cloth into a sizzling cauldron of an acid green substance. He shuttered, but waited for the man to proceed.   
  
After a moment, Snape brought the cloth to Draco's skin. "This may sting a bit." He slowly put the saturated rag upon the boys wrist as he hissed. "I told you." He silently dabbed for a moment, his gentle touch somewhat surprising the blonde. After all, his teacher was rather surly, and played his part well. But somehow, the way he was so lightly running the cloth over the boy's wrist was breathtaking. Astounding, almost. Draco inhaled shakily and watched Snape as he carefully massaged the liquid into his wounds. "How's your mother doing? Well, I trust?" The boy's bold platinum eyes widened.  
  
"And so you haven't heard, then?"  
  
"What, is...is she ill?" He asked softly, a distant tone of uplift in his voice.  
  
"No, sir." The tensed muscles in Snape's jaw fell.  
  
"I see." There was a rather uncomfortable moment of complete silence, and then Snape began coldly, "You may take the rest of this potion with you back to the dormitory. I've got a flask you can pour it in. As for the cabinets, I've cleaned them already." If Draco was astounded before, it was nothing to the surprise he felt now.  
  
"You have?"  
  
"Mmm." He nodded. "I just brought you here to privately speak to you about your habits, which by the way, I suggest you halt." Draco's head bobbed. "Minerva never realizes I clean the cabinets the second week of September, not the third. Here's the flask." He added, standing. For a moment, both the boy and the man stood placid. Snape began to pour the potion into the small metal bottle when Draco said nothing. "You may go now, Mister Malfoy, I think you need your sleep." Draco nodded and thanked his professor. "Draco, don't end up like your father, really."  
  
"Why is that, sir?"  
  
"It is a story that will be told when you are older, at a later date."  
  
"In all do respect, professor, I am seventeen." Snape mirthlessly chuckled. The familiarity of the cackling was haunting.   
  
"I bid you a good evening, Mister Malfoy." Draco slowly turned to depart, but suddenly recalled something.  
  
"Professor?" Snape looked up quickly from the spot upon the floor he'd been concentrating on. "She's dead."  
  
"Excuse me, Draco, who is?"  
  
"My mother."  
* * * 


	2. Stinging Memories of the Corrupt Past

Broken  
By Angel Of Music  
  
Chapter Two: Stinging Memories of the Corrupt Past  
  
Wind toyed with the man's thick cloak, and the cloth fluttered around him like grim autumn leaves. He shivered, the sensation dancing down his spine in seemingly mock disapproval. The astronomy tower was just as beautiful at night as it had used to be, yet now memories toiled with his mind, singeing his thoughts. Nothing was as it was. And it would never be again. The thought was strangely mysterious.   
  
From the distance, a twitter of light blew across the midnight sky, then was swallowed by an array of clouds. Could it be that he had received the man's cry? The cloaked person stood, shivering still, praying that what he had seen was truly the thing he'd been hoping for. And then, in a twinkle of stars, another man flew forth on a nimble broom, gracefully landing on the stone surface of the tower. The two stood and stared at each other for a moment and then, with wide raven eyes, the cloaked figure uneasily retreated forth and embraced the second man.   
  
They remained like this for what seemed like a few minutes, until they unwillingly tore apart and glared into each other's mournful eyes.   
  
"You came." The first pointed. Nodding, the other man whispered,  
  
"Why did you call me here, Severus? We agreed only to speak when provoked- you remember that, don't you?" He ran a convulsing palm through his platinum hair.  
  
"I realize this, but- I- I found out about Narcissa. I'm sorry." He grimly stated.   
  
"Come off it, you know she meant nothing to me. She was the wealthiest, most well-respected family next to mine, and she happened to fall for me. Tell me you would not have taken advantage of that situation? Her death means nothing but more inheritance." Pointed the blonde coldly. "I thought I'd have to wait ages more for this to occur, and you know it."  
  
"You truly didn't care for her one bit?"  
  
"Not at all. In fact, on the contrary, she quite annoyed me. She was a Gryffindor, was she not? Her habits bothered me." He replied, his head absent-mindedly shaking. Snape frowned delicately.  
  
"You haven't changed, you know." He proposed.  
  
"You'd expected I had?" Asked the other man, whom began to pace slowly. There was a pause, and Snape turned his gaze away.  
  
"Yes. I'd hoped that- that maybe my feelings would have diminished. I'd hoped that when I saw you, you'd be a completely different man, and that I could forget about what happened in school. But you haven't. And my feelings won't leave."  
  
"Please, Severus, you mustn't care anymore. Just forget what occurred, I beg of you."  
  
"I can't, Lucius, I can't! Why can't you simply take me back under your wing? I'm the one whom is pleading your help. I'm not sure I can go on much longer."  
  
"You've come this far. You know I can't take you in, Severus. It's impossible."  
  
"But why?" He cooed, sounding a but desperate. "I don't see..."  
  
"You must once again focus on my family reputation." Lucius responded icily. "It would be destroyed if anyone knew. Understand that; my son wouldn't be allowed to join Voldemort, I would be kicked out-"  
  
"Your son should not be with Voldemort in the first place!" Snape snapped, his head pivoting quickly so that his glare was focused upon the other man. "And neither should you!" Lucius began to shake his head lethargically.   
  
"Why did you ever leave him, Severus? You were so secure there. Have you seen any of his disciples fall? No. I have safety. As does my son. And I don't want that destroyed because of a petty fling I had in school. Do not taunt me with your pleas. I cannot take that. Just realize that this is impossible." He focused his gaze upon the ground.  
  
"It was not some petty fling." Snape argued shakily, his emotion taking the better of him. "You-" He looked upward, his vision slightly clouded, a lump traveling swiftly up his throat. "You told me...you told me that you loved me." Darkness swirled about the two men, whom were at least five feet apart, awkwardly facing each other. Snape stood, shivering violently, and Lucius simply stared. "If it wasn't true, then- then why?"  
  
"I never said it wasn't true. But you left my lord. And times have changed. I was married for twenty-four years, Severus. And as I've said, my family would experience a great downfall if they knew that the almighty Lucius Malfoy was...was- well, you know." Snape blinked alien moisture from his eyes.  
  
"And so you're saying we could never happen? That...this could never occur?" With the conclusion of his final statement, he leapt towards Lucius and entwined his lips with the other man's in a deep kiss. As intimate passion fumed throughout both of their bodies, Snape leaned in closer and ran a hand through Lucius's fine chrome hair. Lucius fought back with the muscles in his mouth, battling for air and control, wrapping his arms about Severus's waist. Snape groaned throatily and kissed Lucius harder, his saliva dancing across their tongues. The blonde's hands shook furiously, and ripping their lips apart, exhaled breathlessly,  
  
"And so I shall succumb to you once more, my love." He leaned in once more, showering Snape's neck in an array of moist kisses. They both fell upon their knees, their lips still trashing as one another's arm's wrapped listlessly around the other's neck. Lucius slowly slid the raven-haired man's cloak from his shoulders, and as a timid shudder hit his body, the blonde began to massage his chest. "Are you cold?" He asked softly between breaths. Snape shook his head slowly.  
  
"I just cannot believe that it's you, and it's me." Instead of an understanding expression, a smirk hit Lucius's face. He knew he would be dominant. Pulling Severus's shirt up until it was just above his shoulders, he pressed his tongue against the man's chest and stroked downwards, smiling slightly as Severus let out a deep moan. After a moment he drew himself from the man, and with a sneer etched on his lips, he tore the shirt off completely. They now both fell upon the ground, breathing heavily against one another, Snape writhing beneath Lucius as the blonde traced around his navel with the tips of his fingers. Shivering once more, Snape commanded, "Keep going, never stop." As his dominance was now justified, Lucius was giddy and rough. He ripped off his own shirt fiercely, pressing his chest against Snape's, and inhaling, aroused, as their flesh was caressed by one another. He now raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Those trousers are rather a nuisance..." He began slowly, the smirk emblazoned on his lips never dying. With the conclusion of this statement, he began carefully unbuttoning the pants. Snape thrashed. When the knickers were done away with, Lucius fiddled with Severus's undergarments, tantalizing him greatly. He quickly ran his palm down the man's leg, massaging with great animosity. Snape was frigid, but would not show it. He allowed the blonde to curiously explore his body, all the way down to his feet, and he breathlessly exhaled as Lucius shoved a hand up through the bottom of his underwear. Lucius rolled his knuckles over the inside of the midnight-haired man's leg, and sneer as Snape shuddered once more. "Shall we remove these?" He asked, indicating toward the undergarments. Snape was void for words, and simply mouthed, "Yes." The grin on Lucius's face broadened.   
  
"That's what I thought."  
* * *   
Twenty-two years earlier  
  
Sunshine was searing through his eyelids. Morning had arisen, bringing with it chirruping birds, bright spring daisies, and spectacular weather. The boy sat up and fiercely rubbed his eyes, drawing the curtains to his four poster, and freshly gazing over to the bed beside him. Standing, he made his way over to it, and flung the curtains aside.   
  
"Wake up, you prat." He demanded as a half-sleeping boy turned onto his side to have a look at the commotion. Lethargically glancing at his golden watch, the second grumbled,  
  
"It's only seven-o'clock. We've still got two hours until breakfast." The first boy shook his head.   
  
"It's a perfect day for a walk. Come on, Lucius, don't be lazy. Then again, you're always lazy."  
  
"I am not!" Lucius argued defensively. The dark-haired boy furrowed a frown.  
  
"Fine then, get up. I want to bring you somewhere." When Lucius did not comply, the boy raised his eyebrows, and without another pause, pounced on the blonde.   
  
"Ok, ok!" Lucius exhaled, giggling. "I'll go. Just let me get dressed, for God's sake." Fifteen minutes and a numerous amount of tackles later, Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy had exited their common room and were heading up several flights of stairs. "Where are you taking me?" Lucius asked every once and a while. Yet he was always simply met with the reply of,  
  
"You'll see when we get there." They continued to travel, rather silently actually, until they hit the stairwell that led to the highest astronomy tower in Hogwarts. Ascending it, Snape mumbled, "I've got a surprise for you."   
  
When they reached the top, both boys sat, dangling their feet over the edge. "It's nice out, Sev, isn't it?" Whispered Lucius, taking Snape's hand. Snape responded with a nod. You know something Sev, after all of this confusion and struggle, and all of this turmoil, I still think..." He trailed off, a hidden sadness streaking his expression.   
  
"What is it? You can say..."   
  
"I think I'm in love with you, Sev. It's weird, you know? You're the first in the history of Malfoys to break through the stoic shell." He leaned over and slowly kissed the boy, whom was looking astonished.  
  
"Thank you. " Was all he could mumble. Staring out into the horizon, the boys were filled with uneasy mirth, and both embraced each other's palms tightly.  
  
"But- but what is it you wanted to show me?" Suddenly realizing something, Severus stood.  
  
"The butterbeer! Hold on, Lucius, I left it in a classroom at the bottom of the stairs. I'll be right back." With the conclusion of his final statement, he dashed back down the stairs in blatant disarray. Sighing, the blonde caressed his own cheek with the hand that Snape had just released.   
  
When he had stated that the morning was 'nice,' earlier, it was an understatement. Colors of puce, periwinkle, and silver danced through the sky, bold and bright under the dawn's sun. The grounds of Hogwarts glistened with dewdrops, and the trees of the forbidden forest swayed with the minute wind that blew deftly upon the castle. Flowers bloomed from nearly every corner, bellowing their forceful scent through the air. Lucius inhaled deeply, taking in their unique smell. Little did both boys know, that even though the morning was serene and placid, quite a malicious ploy would pollute the perfect day.  
  
Footsteps could be heard from the stairs below him. Excited to see what Snape had brought, Lucius stood and peered down the dark corridor. But the person retreating up the stairwell was not Severus, but another boy, with ruffled, midnight hair, a pale complexion, and intense, glowing, cerulean eyes. When he reached the top, he drew out his wand and thrust it against the blonde's neck. "Follow me." He growled.  
  
"What are you playing at, Potter?" Lucius asked fiercely. James Potter exhaled, clearly annoyed.  
  
"We're going to play a little joke on Severus, and you're going to help. If you cannot comply, we will harm him."  
  
"Let me go, you stupid prat!" He yelled savagely. James shook his head.   
  
"We're going to have to shut you up." He began slowly, dragging Lucius down the stairwell. "Because we can't have all of this commotion." Wand still upon Lucius's neck, James mumbled, "Silencia!" and Malfoy went quiet. Though his mouth still contoured in what looked like attempted words, only air came forth. "Alright." He began, pulling the blonde into a nearby classroom. "Peter and I have already placed a dummy of yourself at the bottom of the tower, so that when Snape comes up, he'll think you've fallen." Lucius's mouth thrashed indignantly, and he stood. "No, that won't due at all, will it. Petrificus Totalus." Lucius fell to the floor, completely rigid. "I'll be back." With this, he exited the classroom and shut the door with a bang.   
  
All Lucius could hear now was a dignified scream and muffled laughter. He attempted to cry out and say that he was alright, but no words escaped him. He lay, lost in terror for a moment, telling himself that it would all be alright, until the door burst open once more and Peter Pittegrew stepped inside the classroom. "Come on, Malfoy, I'll take that curse off of you." With this, he cut the full-body bind off. "Follow me." They both walked back up the stairs, sheer horror etched on Lucius's face.   
  
"What have you done to him?" He mouthed breathlessly.  
  
"What was that?" Peter asked in mock concern. "Couldn't hear a word you just said." He sneered as they reached the top of the stairs.   
  
"Lucius! You're here, alive!" Were the first words the blonde heard as he hit the astronomy tower. He nodded frivolously, glad to see that Severus was not harmed. But as he looked up, he shuttered as he realized that Snape was coiled in magical rope, which had both his wrists and ankles bound together.   
  
"We're going to have a little fun with your 'Sev.'" Lucius shook his head violently.  
  
"Leave him alone!" He breathed silently. But the comments would not help. They began to drag a kicking Severus down the stairs. Before Lucius could chase after his love, James shouted,  
  
"Staglio!" And Lucius was pinned upon the ground. He attempted to move his feet, but as if giant weights were attached to him, he remained stagnant. He cursed at James, who blatantly could not hear him. Completely distraught, he did the only thing he could possibly think of. Drawing a sleek, pewter dagger from his robes, he brought the blade to his wrist and struck it three or four times.  
  
Blood oozed from every gash, and Lucius fell oblivious to the world around him. All he knew was that slashing himself calmed his nerves. He felt the worry bleed away. In potent disarray and drowned misery, he felt himself fall into a deep feint.   
  
Severus was coming back up the stairs, accompanied by Peter and James. "We wouldn't do anything to him, you stupid prat." They began heartily as they reached the platform. "It was all a joke-" All three boys suddenly realized that Lucius was bleeding, and bleeding heavily. He appeared to be unconscious. Shaken, totally void of ideas on what to do, Severus drew out his own wand and thrust it against his neck.   
  
"Cruciatus!" He demanded humbly. Both Peter and James watched the boy fall.  
  
"This pun has all gone wrong!" James cried, running a hand urgently though his hair. "We've got to cut that curse from him! If we don't he'll die."  
  
"So let him..." breathed Peter, annoyed.   
  
"You idiot! We can't just do that!" James dashed to Snape's side and ripped the wand from his neck. The boy lay, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry..." James repeated a few times, shaken. "We'll bring Lucius and yourself down to the hospital wing. I'm sorry..."  
* * *  
"Why did you do it, Severus?" Lucius began sharply, inhaling deeply as he stared up into the dank midnight sky. Their bare bodies were covered in Snape's cloak, which shielded them from the aphotic, algid night's air. Both were filled with warmth against the other's body, which was covered in perspiration.   
  
"Do what?" He asked softly, shutting his eyes.  
  
"Why did you ever try to kill yourself over me? I'm not worth that. Look at me, I'm horrid. I'm dropping the only thing I've ever been sure of because of family reputation. I'm not worth what you give me." He repeated, sighing.  
  
"But that's what I love about you, Lucius. You're worth every bit of the trouble."  
  
"I'm sorry." He began after an elongated paused. "You must forgive me." Snape shook his head.  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry for. Just stay as you are. Never change." Lucius stood, exposing his naked body to the frosted evening.  
  
"I must go, Severus. Thank you for everything you've given me in my life, but as of now, we must forget everything that occurred." Sadly, Snape nodded.  
  
"I understand. Goodbye, Lucius Malfoy." As the blonde man tugged his cloak back over his shoulders, he leaned in for a last, mournful kiss. "I'll never forget this."  
  
"Nor will I." Lucius pulled away and released Snape's palm. Mounting his broom, he kicked off into the ray less night, not halting once to look back.   
* * *  
Author's Note: Sad ending to a chapter, I realize, especially the second chapter. The plot is just beginning to unwind, however, so keep in mind that this is not the final view of Lucius. However, this story will end up being Draco/Snape. I would just like to point out a few things that may have felt a little confusing in the chapter preceding. Firstly, the joke that James and Peter played was an attempt at winding my story in with the actual Harry Potter books. As stated in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, James Potter plays a trick on Snape, but is required to save his life. This was the pun in my story. I do not, as I have stated earlier in the story, believe this to be the true interpretation of James's joke, but as I also have said, it weaves into my story. Secondly, if you are wondering why Snape doesn't like the astronomy tower, it is because all of that occurred there. That is also why he advises Draco not to cut himself. Although you probably figured all that out on your own, it was still worth it to write it down. Thanks for reading, by the way. Next chapter should be out by the beginning/middle of next week. .  
-Angel Of Music (Elana) 


	3. And So It Unravels

Broken  
  
By Angel Of Music  
  
Author's Note: Since the fifth book is coming out in a matter of days, and the first few chapters of this story are only using the information from books One-Four, I have decided to add spoilers at the beginning of each chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience! Happy "Order of the Phoenix" reading!! -Angel Of Music (Elana)  
  
Chapter Three: And So It Unravels  
  
Touched with moonlight, Hogwarts Castle lay soundlessly, basking in the aphotic evening. Its gallant peaks stood, bold against the dimly lit sky, beautiful and mysterious. Little stirred, for it was past midnight, and the brightness of the stars had died. Even the forbidden forest seemed clear of intrusion. It was black, cold, and piercing, and the only refuge he could find was the minimal warmth that was flowing sleepily from the moonlight. Silence. It was a feat that spoke so loudly that its voice was inaudible; a voice that was so needy no one person could hear it. Comfort, however, flowed through his veins when he was engulfed in silence, and it was enough. Even if it only cleared his thoughts momentarily, the constricting silence was enough. But he knew, he knew within the very core of his stone heart, that the unpronounced sounds would be annihilated soon enough; swallowed by the massive roar of war. There was no doubt this was true.   
  
Wind ruffled the hair of the pondering boy, who stood silently upon a balcony, staring placidly into the blank evening. Gorgeous, really, it was; serene. Gray. Mysterious. It had a faint resemblance of himself. He ran a hand through his wind-toyed locks, his grim expression not daring to once shift. His solemn platinum eyes fitted upon the canopy of trees before him as the dew-ridden air played against his blanched cheeks, dutifully painting them rose. The silence reminded him of his never-dying pain. Provoked him to feel the hurt that he usually felt once more. The piercing voyage of anguish traveled throughout his limbs, his fingers, his stomach- his heart; his immobile, onyx heart. That was his emotion; the only emotion he had inside of his self. That very preceding statement was the attitude that he had wanted to release for so many years. Someday it would reveal itself; there was no doubt about that.   
  
His astronomy tower privileges had been taken away, the rogues. For this he nearly began to despise his preferred professor, and without overly good reasoning, he admitted. He had found a small balcony off of one of the classrooms in the third floor corridor. It was a small place, adorned in Romanesque pedestals, and which had a strong odor of black rose petals. In Draco Malfoy's opinion, he had found the next best place. It seemed, however, that the scents reminded him strongly of his childhood, and for this, his rating of the balcony dropped dramatically.  
  
He had never really been what was expected of a child. He never played, jumped, or sang. The morbid infant merely sat in his room for hours, his bleak, small figure silhouetted against the large, luminous walls, staring into the atmosphere. But Draco Malfoy was not a normal child. In fact, he was far from. The boy had secrets that no one could possibly know, for if they did, something would go wrong. Terribly wrong. For it was this boy who saw things. Not natural things, but horrifying, gruesome, and inhumane things. And he could do nothing to stop these horror-provoking fantasies in his mind. They were incessant- never-ending, fiendish creatures that ran throughout his thoughts like wildfire. And since the moment he was born he was able to visualize these strange, mystifying, terrifying day-dreams. Every moment he felt himself slipping away into his world of thought, and he fought his hardest to stop this from occurring. Over the years he had mastered the art of avoiding his devilish nightmares, but some, which had their relevance, always shone though. And the problem was, the only way to halt the visions was to perish, and if he did, the world would most likely perish with him.   
  
Tired of the night, he retreated back into the classroom, and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, finally draping it over his arm. His pale skin hit the moonlight that shone through the glass in a prepossessing uplift, and as he drew himself away from it, Draco Malfoy disappeared into the writhing darkness that was his life.  
  
* * *  
  
Draco hardly had time to notice his bacon early next morning, when an enormous great-horned owl fluttered down next to him. Curious to see who had sent him a letter, he hurriedly untied the parchment and unfolded it.   
  
Dear Master Draco Malfoy,  
  
It read.  
  
Due to your helpfulness in the past, I have seen what you are capable of. Although I know you must have enough to worry about, what with school, I will make this brief and to the point. Using your "talent," shall we call it? You have successfully shown us that your visions are reliable. The ministry, and in saying this I refer specifically to myself, would be most certainly grateful if you could lend us more of your information. Since we have it at our disposal, I believe it would be a waste of an opportunity not to ask you. Please send us word as soon as you get my owl.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Cornelius Fudge, Minister Of Magic  
  
"Rubbish." The boy mumbled under his breath. "They couldn't have gotten this far without me." He shut his eyes, bringing a thumb to his temples and massaging them roughly.  
  
"What was that?" Asked Goyle, chunks of chewed sausage falling from his lips as he spoke. The blonde shook his head at the boy's burdened demeanor.  
  
"Nothing." He responded sharply, feeding the owl before him a bit of bacon, then sending it on its way. Yes, he would help the ministry, but it meant once again defying his father. But then again, he had been able to do it almost his entire life, and there was no true reason to stop at that moment.   
  
"You going to eat that?" Questioned Crabbe from his other side, motioning toward the scrap of bacon that the owl had left. Raising his eyebrows, Draco raised his hand towards the food particles.  
  
"No, by all means, take it." He breathed sarcastically, rolling his chrome eyes. Pausing, he added, "If that was up a troll's nose, would you still eat it?" Crabbe pursed his lips in thought.  
  
"Yeah, if I was hungry 'nuff. Why, wouldn't you?" Suddenly more interested in the toast on his plate, Draco shot Crabbe a nasty look and flung a slab of butter onto the bread, bringing it to his mouth and taking a crisp bite out of it.   
  
"Bah, cold." He spat, spewing pieces of bread upon the table. "Don't these house elves make anything right? The food here is so mediocre."  
  
"Nothing like you get at home." Pointed Goyle. "Your mum makes a mean steak." Nodding, the blonde shook his head, at a void for appetite.   
  
"I'm going back up to the common room." He said sharply, briskly turning his head and departing. He swept through the hallways quickly, gliding down the stone stairs and belting into the dungeons. A fire crackled solemnly before the abandoned common room, illuminating the jade-adorned furniture with its forlorn light. Draco slowly sat down in an emerald couch before the fire, resting his head upon his palm. And suddenly, his eyelids, in a burst of fatigue, fluttered shut.  
  
* * *  
  
"Lucius, no!" The strong scent of flames hurtled through the air. Terrifying screams darted through his ears, faces flashed their horror-struck expressions. Children were crying for their mothers. Eruptions were emblazoning the sky. Laughter; terrible, cruel laughter, was echoing through the black night, ringing across the valley. A man was howling away, his raven hair dancing across his cheeks as his hysterics heightened. His wand was outstretched at an erratic, chrome-haired man who stood shivering, merely staring off into the hellish distance. The man was not moving, but standing plastered to the spot, a grim smile playing on his lips. A second man, shorter, yet thin, stood behind the first, beckoning him forth, away from the cackling demon. "You must come!" He shouted, his hand frantically waving at the blonde. "Please, Lucius, come! You cannot let him win!" But the man still stood, simply staring at the fiend, the smirk still shot upon his face.   
  
"If he wants me, he may have me, Severus. Fate will choose my destiny, haven't you learned that by now? Not after all I've taught you?" The laugher grew louder, its levity completely diminished.   
  
"You're smarter then that, just step towards me, don't let him triumph!"   
  
"Why shouldn't I? I've got nothing to live for!"  
  
"Are you saying I'm not worth your life, Lucius Malfoy? After all we've been through? Step forward, please, don't just do it for me, but for yourself. Don't make a choice either of us will regret. I love you."  
  
"No. You love my son." And with this, an overpowerment of cackling burst forth, growing louder and more echoed until... the scene bust forth in a swirl of green light and Draco Malfoy awoke, panting audibly upon his bed. He immediately sat up, running a palm through his damp hair. He'd had another vision...a vision of his father this time...tugging a sweating hand across his perspirated brow, he sighed a bit to himself and stood to inform Fudge of his strange dream.   
  
It hadn't been a while since Draco had last had a vision. They were constant; what seemed like never-ending epiphanies, queer and mysterious. They were frightening almost, because they were usually accurate. What had his father meant by, 'You love my son?' and what did Snape have anything to do with his family? Confusion was mounting in his body; bold and fresh as a morning's sun, and it ached. Pain was engulfed in every limb in his body, as it always had been after he'd had one of his strange revelations. He stepped down the stairs, deep in thought, and entered the common room.   
  
Delirious as he was, he was still conscious that as he flew down the stairwell, he hit into something rather impliable. Looking up to see what he had struck, he coughed as his vision met with Severus Snape's. *You love my son...*  
  
"Good afternoon," Muttered Draco, oblivious as to why the professor had taken a sudden interest in the Slytherin common room. The man responded with a stout nod of his head, followed by a brief exhale. "What are you doing here?" He asked after a moment, his curiosity taking the better of him.   
  
"Last time I checked, Mister Malfoy, I was the head of Slytherin house, am I wrong?"   
  
"No, professor." He grunted, bothered that his teacher had been so broad. "I mean, you usually aren't in-"  
  
"Hogsmeade weekend." The raven-haired man cut off, glaring at the boy. "Posting the notice." Suddenly aware that Snape's hand had been upon the bulletin board the entire time, Draco stifled a chuckle at his own stupidity. "Have you got a problem with that?"  
  
"No, sir, I'm just- just a bit side-tracked today, that seems to be all." Suddenly a quick pang of concern spread across Snape's face, then died just as quickly. The worry resembled, almost perfectly, the same expression that the man had on in his vision. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Draco said quickly, "Good day, professor." Again Snape bowed his head as the blonde rushed past.   
  
The owlry, a dark, dreary place, welcomed him with a barricade of hoots as he entered the room. He lethargically made his way over to his large eagle owl, Calconess, and stood before her. "Got a job for you." He whispered slowly, running a palm quickly over the raptor's thick, glossy feathers. With this, he drew forth a small roll of parchment and a quill from his robes, and wrote the following note.  
  
Minister Fudge,  
  
I've had another vision, though I am unsure of it's meaning. It was strange- quite strange- and I'm sure you'd like to hear of it. Return my post as quickly as you can.   
  
Master Draco S. Malfoy.  
  
With a final narrowing of his eyes, he folded the note in two and tied it to the owl's leg, throwing it out into the afternoon air.  
  
* * *  
  
Black, curious, snooping eyes blared at him from every angle of the room. As usual, as it happened every time he'd try to spend time in the common room, the greater portion of the female population was staring at him thoughtfully. Whispers followed the gazes, which littered the room with audible comments, most of which glorified Draco Malfoy beyond what he truly deserved.  
  
"Those eyes, those beautiful silver eyes! Like unicorn tail, they are!"  
  
"And that luscious, milky complexion! So pale and blanched! Perfectly mysterious."  
  
"Have you seen the way he moves? It's incredibly graceful." These whispers surrounded Draco nearly everywhere he went- he was used to it by now. They usually came from the younger female population, for Pansy and her group of Slytherin girls had learned long ago that fawning over Draco Malfoy was a waste of time. Pansy and Draco had been a pair for a few weeks, until Draco declared he found her boring, and the two were not very warm with one another ever since. However, Pansy had still not completely given up on the boy, and every so often she would conveniently drop her quill right next to his chair, on purpose, and when he was nearby, she would state that she was simply too weak to carry all of her tedious texts. Draco was more intelligent than that, though, and Pansy's weak attempts to attract the boy's attention usually resulted in a vast disappointment for her. Draco shook off the buttered comments of the girls about him, deciding suddenly that, since he was to meet with Fudge later that day, he should clean his wrists up. He stood, feeling for the flask that had been strung around his chest, and made his way up the winding stairs towards the boy's dormitory.   
  
Opening the door, he made his way towards his four poster and sat, drawing the steel bottle off of his neck and placing it on the rich, forest sheets. Opening it, he reached for the bottle. Apparently his hands we oscillating, for when they hit the flask to pick it up, it slid easily from his fingertips and crashed upon the ground, the liquid spraying everywhere and immediately vanishing into the emerald carpet. "Shit!" Draco proclaimed to himself, standing violently. Making his way towards the bathroom, he grabbed for a washcloth- or something to clean up the mess- finally snatching his night robes and flinging them onto the spot where the potion had spilled. "That's odd.." he began, for the area was completely dry, as if nothing had touched it. Shrugging, he decided it best to go and get more of the potion from Snape. Sighing, he placed his hand upon the doorknob and exited the dormitory.   
  
Snape was scribbling something on parchment when Draco entered, which he quickly folded and shoved beneath his desk when he noticed the boy's arrival. Draco couldn't help but notice that Snape's expression seemed to fall upon his recognition of the boy. "Excuse me sir," he began after a short, uncomfortable pause. "But I've dropped my healing potion, and as I've got a meeting with the minister in the afternoon-" Snape looked annoyed.   
  
"You should knock first, Master Malfoy, you know that."  
  
"I'm sorry, professor, the door was open." The man rolled his eyes.   
  
"Come into my quarters, I'll make you a second batch. Be more careful with it next time, I'm not really in a place to be making you potions left and right. I'm doing this out of my own will, and if you keep messing with it, the will is going to diminish." Draco nodded in acknowledgement. As Snape stood and turned toward the door in which lead to his room, Draco could not help but ask something that had been on his mind for the past few days.  
  
"Professor, two days ago, I had another vision. It wasn't like the rest. Something in it quite bothered me. It involved you. You and my father." The man's eyes, which had been cast downward, flicked toward Draco, their dark, cold, stoic beams focused on the boy's face. Snape was one of the few people, aside from Dumbledore, Fudge, and his father, that knew of the visions Draco experienced. Dumbledore felt it best that the head of the boy's house knew about them, since Draco might be gone from the common room at times when he visited Fudge. Snape had taken the news without the slightest change of expression, just a curt nod of understanding and a narrowing of his eyes. "I don't know what it meant," he started once more as the silence began to envelope the two wizards.  
  
"And- and you're seeing Fudge about this vision?" For the first time that Draco had ever seen, Snape had an emotion in him beside anger- nerve. Almost a hint or terror. "Fudge isn't intelligent enough to swallow a vision like that into his mind...if you can't figure it out, I'm sure the minister won't be able to. What was it like, anyway?"  
  
"I'm not sure, really. Very dark. Lots of fire. Rage, laughter, crying- it was odd. My father was offering himself to Voldemort, I think, and you- you said something funny, something strange."  
  
"What did- what did I say?" He coughed, almost as if not wanting to hear the response.  
  
"That you, eh, loved him. That you loved my father. Then he said that you loved me. He said, 'you love my son.'" Snape looked incredibly taken aback, as if someone had brought a boulder crashing into his stomach- like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him. He held his breath for a moment, and then exhaling slowly, he stuttered,  
  
"It probably meant nothing." Snape pivoted quickly- almost too quickly in Draco's opinion- and entered his dank stone quarters. The boy followed after him, lost in his own thought. "Don't let Fudge fool you into some strange theory. It was an extraneous vision, I can tell you that right now."   
  
"But it involved Lord Voldemort. Nothing can be extraneous if it entails the dark lord. That is why I'm helping Fudge- because my visions show the future! The world would be in total devastation by now if it weren't for these subconscious thoughts I have!" Draco cried, sounding more angry than he intended. "I'm not saying you aren't correct, professor, that this meant very little, but I really must run it by Fudge."   
  
"You're too righteous to be your father's son." Snape snapped suddenly, rage visibly building in his midnight pupils.   
  
"That may be, sir." Draco began, attempting to calm himself, as well as Snape, down. "Because if my father found out I was doing this, I'd be mince meat pie by now." He paused, his throat suddenly tighter than before. Growing shaky, he began softly, "I- I never wanted to join Voldemort. Although I've never said it to my father, he knows it. And now that I've joined with him, I find it harder to betray my father. We have this- this unspoken bond. I know I despise him, and his morals, but he's my father. He would kill me if he found out that I've been giving my visions to Fudge; that I've been telling Voldemort of visions I've never really had, simply to throw them off track. But I don't know- I still have a hard time defying him." The room was so silent, the sound of cauldrons bubbling in the next room sounded like foghorns, but Draco, taking little notice of this, rubbed his eyes violently with clenched fists. Both wizards stared at one another when Draco brought his hands downward. The boy suddenly felt something he'd never felt before when around his potions professor- something that danced in his chest like butterflies in a garden. And with this he began feeling slightly nautilus, until he shut his eyes and doubled over, his strange new emotions burning within his stomach like an epidemic. He felt sea-sick, and then suddenly, it all stopped, and he stood, folded nearly in two, clutching his chest. Standing shakily, he blinked, focusing on the unchanged expression of Snape. "I'm alright." He began sharply after a moment.   
  
"Master Malfoy, I believe it's time for your departure, with or without the potion. I'll drop it by later this evening, before you depart. I think you'd better sleep some. It'd do you well." Nodding slowly, Draco turned to exit. But before he reached the door, he stopped for a moment.  
  
"Professor?" He asked softly. "You won't tell my father about any of this, will you?" There was almost a full minute of silence, until Draco felt a trembling hand rest on his shoulder. Startled, he flung around to face Snape, their noses just inches apart. Draco could feel his professor's warm breath embracing his own face. They simply started at one another, without the discomfort that Draco usually experienced around the man. Snape's eyes fluttered closed, but Draco's remained cemented open. Unfamiliar emotions course through his veins like wildfire, spreading everywhere throughout his body, warming him slightly. His mind was usually everywhere, but in that moment, every thought in his brain was focused on Snape. It was like hell and heaven struck together as one, beautiful, merciful, yet frightening and dark. Every emotion Draco had ever known (which were little) had exploded in his chest, singed his thoughts and his actions. He could do nothing but stand, nothing but stare- until Snape's eyes flashed open and he stated gruffly,  
  
"I won't tell."  
  
* * * 


	4. Inquiries and Discoveries

Broken  
  
By Angel Of Music  
  
Spoilers: Books 1-5 (for all of you who haven't finished reading book five yet, what the hell are you doing sitting here reading my story? Go, my child, go! Read "The Order of the Phoenix!" That's right, now!)  
  
Author's note: Well, I finished reading the fifth book the Monday after the book came out- it took me only 2 days to read, I guess I'm a slow reader...I'm so sad...*sigh* I had to watch about 4 comedic movies that night to wash the depression from my mind for at least a moment; not even comedy central did any good for me. Then I kept seeing commercials for Sirius mp3 players...God, it was awful. Well, I just want to let you all know, there's not much from the fifth book that needs to be tied in with this story, except how Lucius escaped from Azkaban, so I'll be explaining that in this chapter. Thanks for listening to my craved ranting; I just wanted to let you all know that I MISS SIRIUS!! Whelp, happy reading, all.   
  
Chapter Four: Inquiries and Discoveries  
  
"Draco? Draco!? DRACO!" Drenched in chilled sweat, Draco Malfoy sat bolt upright in his four poster. Gregory Crabbe stood in the arch of the doorway, his elbow against the frame, his stupid expression twisted into one of confusion. The look well suited him. The chrome haired boy remained silent for a moment, excluding the heavy breathing that issued from his lips, holding onto his chest as it rose an fell in his fright. "What's your problem?" Came the gruff voice of his disciple a second time.   
  
"Nothing, nothing." He promised automatically.  
  
"I just opened the door and you were, eh, talking. In your sleep."  
  
"I was?" He began sharply. "What sort of things was I talking about?"   
  
"Well, er, you said something like, 'He doesn't love you, he only wants you to lure you into Voldemort's clutches...' or something." Crabbe imitated rather badly. Draco screwed up his face.  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He stated, more to himself then to Crabbe, who was standing, nearly dumbstruck. Draco shut his eyes and massaged his temples. And then it happened. It occurred so quickly that it was like lightening: quick and bright. A pain seared through his left forearm, a pain so great he felt it would explode if he didn't keep his fist clenched. A vision shot through his mind so fast that Draco fell to his knees- it was Lucius, and his cold voice was whispering fiercely, "you love my son..." Draco's eyes shot open to stare at Crabbe's knees. He stood, rather shakily, and before answering the lug's question of where he was off to, he'd pushed his way down the stone stairwell and out of the common room.   
  
* * *  
  
"Sir, you look distraught." Implied the stone gargoyle as Draco rounded the corner to Dumbledore's office and shouted the password. "Well, pumpkin pasties it is...you may pass." Draco shot up the winding stairs and threw his fist against the door.  
  
"Come in." Came a muffled voice from behind it. Cautiously, the blonde entered, gazing thoughtfully at his surroundings and entering. "Well, well, Mr. Malfoy. I haven't seen you here in sometime without a good reason- what's the matter?" The half moon-spectacled, pearly-haired man added, noting the expression etched on Draco's face.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I keep having these visions...the same sentence keeps entering my mind. It's as if it's taking over my mind: I can do nothing to stop it. I need to know- is there any connection between myself, my father, and Professor Snape?" There was a moment after the conclusion of this statement that Draco could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's dancing periwinkle eyes widen considerably.   
  
"Perhaps. I knew that your father and Professor Snape were very close as children. You may want to investigate him further on the subject, although you'll probably find that Professor Snape sees the subject as quite touchy."  
  
"So I've noticed." Agreed Draco uncertainly. "But they both keep coming into my mind, talking about death and love and, egh." He sunk into his chair, the weight of these forseeings thrown upon him heavily. "I just don't understand, Headmaster. Why?! Why do I keep seeing these things? Why me, of all people?"  
  
"Draco, that is something that must be told when you are older- when you are able to handle the news more easily. I'm not sure it would be wise to tell you just yet." The boy exhaled sharply in annoyance.   
  
"Why do people keep telling me that? I'm seventeen- I'm almost through with Hogwarts- why can't I know, Headmaster, why?!" He huffed, sounding more desperate than he intended. The man before him sighed softly, his large, icy eyes shut in thought.   
  
"I'm sorry, Draco, it's not in my place. The only person I'd trust to tell you is your father. Him, and Professor Snape." The man added thoughtfully.   
  
"Professor Snape?" Draco asked incredulously. "Headmaster, please. I have to know. Perhaps you, of all people, can help me. What did my vision mean?" He explained his prophecy in a few detailed sentences, and as he concluded, Dumbledore frowned.  
  
"I suppose I'll tell you the beginning. Mind, I'm not explaining the whole thing. I'll leave that either to Severus or your father." He bit his lip in pondering, then began. "As I explained before, your father and Professor Snape were rather friendly when they were in school. They were comrades beyond everything; they never left each other's side, it seemed. As you know, they were both in Slytherin, and in the same year. They were like brothers to one another. Your father was the only human being Severus could comply in- his parents passed away at an early age, which left him with no one until he met Lucius. Nearly everyone else in Hogwarts felt him to be an...outcast. Except perhaps Lily Evans." He trailed off, his eyes flickering boldly.   
  
"James Potter's wife?" Draco promoted. Dumbledore nodded curtly.   
  
"Yes. She found him rather enchanting, really. I knew this well. But Snape treated her like a common cauldron; he ignored her, tantalized her, called her names, and laughed at her. Every time something happened, she would come to my office and tell me everything. Lily Evans had a strong admiration for your professor."  
  
"But I really thought that Lily fancied James- I mean they were wed- she had to admire him, didn't she?" Professor Dumbledore's pallid eyes drooped in consideration.   
  
"Not straight away, I'm afraid." He sighed. "She was deeply taken by his erratic reputation- she'd never known anyone as fascinating as Severus Snape. There was always something...not quite natural...about Severus since the start, and though she could not place her finger on what it was, she admired it. But Severus, on the other hand, was the persistent, cunning Slytherin that the Sorting Hat intended for him to be. He would have nothing to do with her."  
  
"Why?" Draco questioned, without the intention of doing so.   
  
"Numerous reasons. She was muggle born, firstly, and it is quite rare to find a Slytherin who does not have, or at least acquire, a loathing for no-bloods." Draco bit his lip. He nearly wished to argue back, and then came to the realization that for once, the man presented a strong point. He asphyxiated a frown at his own childish ignorance. As the silence grew thicker, another inquiry meandered across Draco's thoughts.   
  
"But did professor Snape ever return Lily's admiration?" Dumbledore exhaled sadly once again.  
  
"No." He began shortly. "I'm afraid he never did." The wilting man shut his eyes, drumming his long, blanched fingers against one another, the absence of fret in his actions startling Draco. "Lily, besides being muggle-born, had a few certain qualities that dissatisfied Severus." He paused, taking a moment to allow his periwinkle eyes to dart soundlessly to the locked door. "Draco," He then commenced, pursing his lips. "I refuse to make the same mistake with you that I did with Harry Potter, so I will explain to you as much as I can." The chrome haired boy nodded stoutly. "You may find some of this rather shocking, Draco, I am warning you in advance." For a curt moment Draco's thoughts asked him what could possibly be so splendid, but as he acknowledged another silence, he frowned.  
  
"I'm tough." He promised dryly. Albus Dumbledore's expression broke into a timid smile that played upon his thin salmon lips visibly.   
  
"We'll see, Mr. Malfoy, we'll see." He chewed upon his tongue for an elongated moment, apparently in pondering, his penetrating gaze directed straight at Draco. Then he inhaled deeply and continued. "One quality that irked Severus was the fact that she was a Gryffindor, and a highly intelligent one at that. She was very good at defense against the dark arts- just as she was. Aside from the fact that Lily was a pretty, youthful woman, Snape found her quite common, which I was sorry for. Poor young Lily used to visit me weekly and weep for hours over Severus's apparent cruelty. I was distraught, for had your professor taken an interest in Lily, I would most certainly promote that this war may not have begun in the firstly. But, of course, there was always that other problem that kept Professor Snape from pursuing something with Miss Evans." Dumbledore halted, taking a stifled breath.  
  
"Which would be..." Draco urged as he realized his headmaster was not about to continue. The man remained silent for a moment, then stuttered,   
  
"S- Severus Snape was already involved with someone."  
  
"Aha!" Draco proclaimed, overjoyed with the stories intensifying plot. "I knew that there must have been a catch. I mean, if someone admires you- although I can see his reasoning for not taking Lily- you can't completely throw that admiration aside."  
  
"Well, Severus easily could. He was too wrapped in his relationship to give a second thought about Miss Evans. Maybe in your days, Mr. Malfoy, people tend to be less monogamous, but not then. But of course, you know, I cannot always say for sure." He chuckled softly. "Anyhow, may I continue, then?" Draco nodded in response.  
  
"So who was the lucky girl?" He asked lightheartedly, running a palm through his glinting locks.  
  
"I feel as if the question should be rephrased, Mr. Malfoy, for Severus's partner was not a female." He trailed off, looking slightly distraught. "I mustn't deceive you, Draco, Professor Snape's suitor was your father." If one thousand air horns had sounded at that particular moment proceeding Dumbledore's proposal, Draco would not have heard them. He was much too busy blatantly staring at the old man, his eyes unblinkingly fixated upon the headmaster.   
  
"What- what do you mean, my father?" Dumbledore once again sighed softly, his snowy moustache fluttering lightly as he did so. "They were only friends- comrades, you said!"  
  
"Draco-" The headmaster snapped suddenly. "You must promise not to say anything to Professor Snape about this. Do you promise me?" The boy nodded sullenly, and with his hand, urged the man to continue.   
  
"So do you mean to say that my father and Snape were- dating?"   
  
"That's professor Snape. And they were very much in love, yes." He answered, nodding slightly. "Your father found him nearly as entrancing as Lily did, I'm afraid, and though he wanted nothing more than to hide from the truth, his emotions for Severus were so strong that he could not shelter himself from them."  
  
"But-" Protested Draco, trying to swallow the mass of information word by word. "Then-" He could not seem to project fragments of more than one word at a time. "What about- what about my mother?" Dumbledore pursed his lips and inhaled sadly.  
  
"Draco, after all that your father has taught you about blocking your feelings away, did you really believe that he and your mother were really in love? I really do hate to break it to you this way, especially after your mother's unexpected illness, but it is true, your father only ever loved one person, and it was not Narcissa. She was of the most respected family after the Malfoys- the Blacks. Mrs. Black, her aunt, held a strong pureblood pride, and she was well-liked for this. Your father thought it best to never show anyone his unexpected leap of emotion, for this was very much unlike anything a Malfoy had ever done. Malfoys were known for being, well you understand, stoic, and marrying purely for the reputation of the Malfoy legacy. And your mother, not realizing of Lucius and Severus's relationship, grew to admire your father. I could not, of course, intervene, for this has always been, and most probably always will be, the way of the Malfoy." With this, Dumbledore broke off, ringing his trembling fingers together soundlessly. "Your father, although very much in love with Snape, knew that everything his life had been built upon- ever since the day he was told that emotion was frowned at- would be destroyed if anyone ever found out about their relationship." He continued wearily. "And so he seized the opportunity and married your mother- a Gryffindor." Draco took a moment to allow himself to stare ahead incredulously at the headmaster.   
  
"But- But then why didn't Professor Snape retaliate on his own and go for Lily?" He asked softly.  
  
"A rather admirable query, if I may say. The problem was, however, that Severus's heart was so shattered that he could not even find the emotion to gather a wanting for revenge. You see, Severus felt that, although he'd been horribly betrayed, he still loved your father, and could be with not other- ever." Draco's lips parted with a small, crisp snap without his intention. His eyes fluttered in acknowledgement of this idea for a second, then he motioned for Dumbledore to continue. "And so he's been alone ever since...alone and rather indifferent to Gryffindors. Not only was it a bunch of unruly Gryffindors who played a cruel trick on him, but because of Narcissa, your mother, he detested the particular house even more." Dumbledore's eyes flashed with a sullen, broken sadness which twinkled in his eyes like evil stars polluting the sky. He put a hand to his forehead, his sullen, pallid face contouring with an entrancingly grand amount of emotion. "But Hogwarts has always been Severus's only home, for his family was truly not exemplary, and he was mostly an independent young man during his whole school career. Hogwarts gave, and still gives, Professor Snape a rather new, exciting, less lonely sense of the world, and that, of course, is why he chose to work here. Your father always said-" Dumbledore started with a mirthful chuckle and the wrinkled smile of a nostalgic old man, "that Severus would make the perfect teacher." He broke off, his wrapped grin fading slightly, looking ruthlessly disconcerted in his gaze. Draco, after a moment of thought, gazed up at the less-than-delicate antique of a man before him.   
  
"Why should I believe this all?" He stuttered curtly as he began inspecting his shoes.   
  
"You have the right to believe whatever you wish, I'm just dictating to you what I know. Lemon drop?" He added, thrusting a near-empty tin of rattling sweets at the blonde, who in return, refused. The headmaster, frowning, placed the tin back upon his finished oak desktop and put a withered finger to his chin. "Draco, I realize that this is a bit much for you, but, as even you said, you have the right to know." After considering this, the young heir to the Malfoy legacy nodded ever so slightly and lifted himself from the scarlet armchair, placing a trembling palm upon the door handle. He pivoted to depart, but before his pale body had been pulled completely through the arch, Dumbledore's voice sounded once more. "Draco? I know that you're off to see the minister today, and though I really hate to admit it, I've seen him become a bit thick at times. For your father's sake, please keep what I've said under wraps."  
  
"That, headmaster, I think I can do." He responded sincerely. And with one last look at the smiling old man, he inhaled a breath of fresh Hogwarts air, and slammed the wood door as hard as he could behind him.  
  
* * *   
  
The cement droppings that littered the ceiling had never seemed so interesting in Draco's entire life, until that moment. Upon the emerald carpeted ground he lay, one hour later, his eyes shut in deep thought. It was afternoon, and he was left quite alone in his dormitory, with only his limited imagination to keep him company. HIS father. HIS professor. His father and his professor together- romantically entangled and separated by a web of nasty reputation and greed- lost between love and lust, legacy and supremacy. He wasn't completely certain that he wanted to believe the headmaster- or rather if he could possibly believe him at all- ...but there was something about Dumbledore's proposal that was so sincere, and made so much sense, that Draco wondered why he hadn't noticed their affection before. When he was a child, his father had always been away- away visiting Snape, perhaps- and he usually came back glowing with warmth. In the days when he began aiding Voldemort once again, however, he'd come home with bruises and blemishes, and he would never allow his nurse to heal the wounds. Because Severus Snape had joined Dumbledore's forces.   
  
Draco remembered a time, when he was very small, wandering childishly into his fathers quarters, and now he recalled that Snape had been there- and they had been staring at each other so silently that the passion seemed to pour through the walls, drawing Lucius Malfoy's little son into the room. Draco had been intrigued, and he did not, until this moment, remember why. He'd witnessed love then: a feat he couldn't even imagine was real. But he'd forgotten about that, and now he retained it clearly, like his mind had just pinned the thought up on a corkboard in his brain. But he was confused, somehow, and strangely forlorn all at once.  
  
A stout knock came upon the door, tearing Draco from his mind's eye. He briefly and thoughtlessly considered who would bother to knock upon a dormitory door, but as he threw it ajar on his hinges after he had stood, his pondering was answered immediately. "P-Professor Snape?" He was met with an almost non-existent bow.   
  
"I've completed your potion." He began softly, almost with a snake-like hiss. Draco could not have been expecting to see someone less, especially when the very man before him was running through his mind for the last hour quite blatantly. Some of his emotions must have run through his expression, for Snape continued, "You look stunned to see me; I DID tell you I'd be coming." He smirked devilishly, running an unsteady hand through his waxy raven hair.   
  
"Of course, of course- you caught me slightly off-guard, I apologize. Uh, come in." To the boy's utter horror and disbelief, Snape actually obeyed and pulled himself from the stony landing into the glowing, candle-lit room. For a moment, silence surged between them, and Draco stared coldly and angrily into his professor's endlessly tormented eyes, his outlets to the devastation that seemingly was his life. Light from the window pooled across Snape's blanched cheeks, and in that very moment, Draco did not recognize the man before him as his teacher, but as his father's first love, and an urge to respect him suddenly shone in his heart.  
  
"Is there something wrong, Draco?" He asked sharply, shattering the intense quiet. He almost considered telling the man everything he felt at that time, which was more than he felt he ever had, but he vetoed that idea when he mentally slapped himself in the face. Snape was only his professor, not his therapist, and he had a right to jail his own thoughts in his head, to never let them touch his lips or tongue, to keep them hidden from any mortal- or immortal, at that- being. For, of course, he must keep his head, and his own secrets, because that was what he had learned from his hypocrite of a father- to be stoic. He shook his head.  
  
"Nothing's wrong." He attempted to say convincingly. Snape raised his dark eyebrows and took a seat upon Draco's canopy. It occurred to the blonde at that moment that he rarely saw the professor sit down. "Just, er- you knew my father very well in school, didn't you? I mean, even when I was a kid you two were with each other quite often, weren't you?" Snape's lip curled visibly.  
  
"I suppose that one could say that."  
  
"Did you know him inside and out?" Before Draco could stop himself, he had used the innuendo he had tried so hard not to. Fuck. If it was possible, the man's eyebrows now rose even higher, and they now seemed to be spilling off of the top of his forehead.   
  
"Call it what you wish...we were comrades, yes." He stifled an exhale. "Why do you ask, may I inquire?" He asked shrewdly.   
  
"Oh, oh I dunno." He began quickly, trying to pull a fast lie out of his ass. "Just curious about his past, that's all. He never really speaks of it."  
  
"Then he must have something to hide, Mister Malfoy, that should be obvious. Apparently he does not care enough about the relations of his history to share them with his family. But you must remember that curiosity killed the cat."  
  
"I'll retain that, thank you."  
  
"You'd best do that." Once again, silence prevailed, and both man and budding adult stared into one another's pupils, in which hid so much emotion; passion, desire, enmity- and both, for that moment, were content. "I'll be taking my departure, then. Here's your potion." He trust the steel flask into Draco's palms, inhaling sharply as he did so. Their hands met, and Draco, for the first time, felt the raw touch of Severus Snape, which within it held security and warmth. For a curt second, he clasped onto that hand like he was a desperate child once again, searching, beneath all the lies, hatred, and animosity, to find some homely comfort in it's parent's hand. He retained times when he has a similar feeling clutching to his mother's soft skinned fingers, trotting down Diagon Alley as a child. It was something that made him feel- admiration. Caring. The security withheld in only Snape's palm nearly took his breath away, and he caught the oxygen in his throat, coughing slightly. Feeling he'd held on too long, he released the vibrating digits and brought the bottle to his chest. "Good-bye, Draco, remember to apply that twice daily."  
  
Draco wished for some strange reason that Snape hadn't said the last bit, for he really knew it, and wanted desperately to be left with only a simple good-bye. He didn't quite know why, but it would have justified the fact that, despite his emotionless core, he'd just felt love.  
  
* * *  
  
Cornelius Fudge's fireplace, much like his own father's, was primped and used only for the frequent visitor. Fudge did not- and would not- care to have ashes and soot polluting his perfectly trimmed marble hearth, for it might obstruct the attempted beauty of the pearly marble stone. Draco, after breathing in a puff of floo powder, felt himself tumble, knee-first, onto the matching shined floor of the Minister of Magic's office, letting a sharp cough roll off of his tongue as he stood. Fudge himself was just above him, a small grin etched on his lips like a child collecting a bar of chocolate.   
  
The office was a rather large place, adorned in smiling photographs and portraits of a placid, blonde-haired witch- appearing youthful still, by the look of it- with sapphire eyes and a shoddy scarlet ribbon knotted around her slim, attractive neck. The walls we papered in a Victorian copper design, swirls of gold bordering the ceiling. Fudge's desk was of polished cherry, and a large stack of parchment teetered on the upper corner of it, threatening procrastination. A large, potted rubber plant stood alone next to the glinting golden door, which, with was seemed extraneous, bars placed carefully across the tiny window. A couch balanced lazily across from Fudge's desk, with a matching Victorian motif. Next to this stood a forgotten pot of coffee on an end table, which sat lazily, a trickle of steam rising from it's lid. The minister motioned toward the sofa for Draco to sit in, and the boy made his way toward it. Fudge himself sat in a squashy emerald armchair across the table. "So." He began, his fingers intertwining on the desktop. "You said you saw something, did you?"  
  
"You cut right to the chase, don't you, minister. Don't offer me coffee or biscuits- you just pull me in here expecting immediate answers. Are you like that with your wife, or just those you expect something out of?" Draco did not have a strong admiration for Fudge, in fact far from. He felt that the minister was thick-headed and dull, but he helped him nonetheless. After all, halfway through his sixth year, he'd decided that life on Voldemort's side was not safe, and finally, for once, betrayed his father. The same father he'd admired for so long became a rogue in his mind, and he began to think for himself, and not under some false pretension of his father's. He convinced Fudge of his innocence and lent him his visions, which sometimes where prophetic, turning into a sort of spy for his own side, much like Snape, feeding Voldemort false prophecies. His father had escaped from Azkaban by means he did not know, nor could he imagine, and had been traveling ever since on duty for his lord.   
  
"You never fail to remind me of your hatred toward me, do you?" Draco pouted slightly.  
  
"Well, I would like a cup of coffee. Enchanted to stay hot, am I right?" he continued as if he had not heard the minister. Standing, he made his way toward the pot.  
  
"We haven't got much time, I'm in a bit of a hurry."  
  
"We could have all day if I called for it." He smirked. It was his delight to hold the minister of magic in the palm of his hand. The man narrowed his eyes slowly.  
  
"O...k..." He started lethargically. "That may be..."  
  
"That may be." Draco mimicked, chuckling softly to himself and asphyxiating a snort. "Damnit, Fudge, sometimes you can be so empty." Cornelius was now beginning to grow irritated.  
  
"Let's just begin, shall we?"  
  
"Mm, we shall, we shall." Draco began tentatively, pouring himself a stingy cardboard cup of hazelnut coffee. "And if I may say you have some good house elves? This stuff isn't shit." Fudge furrowed a frown.  
  
"Well we can all be thankful for that. My wife made it, actually." He stated curtly, some irreverence in his fact.  
  
"And that's your wife?" The boy asked, indicating toward the nearest portrait. "You like them young, Fudge, don't you?"  
  
"God, no!" The man gasped, almost too quickly. "That's my daughter, Aurora." Draco felt his eyebrows dance higher on his forehead, a looks of curiosity etched onto his face as he inspected the picture more carefully. Aurora was young and beautifully mysterious, her long golden hair tied in an intricate knot upon the back of her head. A few meek strands fell across her eyes, and every so often, she would push them aside, only to have them tumble back into her face. Her complexion was pallid, but lovely and prepossessing, and her secrecy of beauty intrigued him. She was petit, but her eyes were huge and almond shaped like two glittering, driving gems.  
  
"I didn't know you had a daughter." Draco put simply as he ran a finger absent-mindedly about the copper frame.   
  
"Sometimes I don't either, I'm afraid. Training to be an Auror, you know. Never quite around, really. Always has work. Either that, or she's out with her friends."  
  
"How old IS she, Fudge? She seems a bit young for the Auror trade. Did she go to Hogwarts?"  
  
"Beaubaxtons, actually." Cornelius put wisely, as if this were one of the only sure things he knew about his daughter. His eyes widened as he articulated this. "And she's twenty. Or rather, she'll be twenty in a few days." Draco nodded in recognition. "But we aren't here to talk about Aurora, are we? Why don't you tell Cornelius what you saw?" The minister promoted in a cool, calm voice.  
  
"We aren't here to treat your only hope like a four-year-old, either, are we Fudge?" He snapped in a fierce, mocking tone. The man scowled, but turned to the portrait of Aurora and rephrased his question.  
  
In twenty minutes, Draco had spilled out his vision- in tragic detail- to Fudge, who proved to be completely extraneous. He would pause every once and a while to swoon over the dream, or to ask a pointless question, and when he had halted, Draco found himself thinking that the trip to the ministry was a sincere loss. Shaking his head slightly, he ignored Fudge's last sugar-coated good-bye, and threw a handful of glinting floo-powder into the fireplace, and within a moment, had gone.  
  
* * *  
  
October bloomed like a sullen, lone flower; beautiful, but almost undesired. It was the new sort of season that students were waiting for to justify the fact that they were indeed back for another school year. The Hogsmeade weekend had been set at an early date in accordance with the quidditch league team captains, who had all decided that every weekend in November was crucial for practice.   
  
The village of Hogsmeade was a transformed place in Autumn- a painted menagerie of scarlet, orange, and gold. Shops drew in visitors with competitions of decor; one shop- Zonkos, actually- had filled the floor with leaves that stacked four feet high, and had unintentionally brought with these leaves a herd of wood-nymphs that showered unsuspecting customers with handfuls of the dried, dying objects for recreation.   
  
Draco spent the afternoon alone, wandering the village with strange thoughts in his mind. Snape was once or twice included in these strange day-dreams, but as soon as the man entered his thoughts, Draco attempted to wipe him out immediately.   
  
As the day drew itself closer to an end, Draco decided to grab a quick butterbeer before he parted for the sincerely unenjoyable real world. Pursing his thin lips, he slowly drew open the door, and was hit, head first, with a burst of ear-splittingly volumed music. Entering cautiously, he looked about the Three Broomsticks, which was hardly recognizable. He didn't know what to ponder first: the music, or the crowd of unfamiliar people, looking youthful but still older than he, dancing raucously about the broad of the room, not bothering to notice that they had knocked aside tables, which created a makeshift dance floor, or the fact that a stage had been magicked across the way, and the Weird Sisters were blasting their harmonies, apparently very lost in their own tunes. He inspected the people. They all seemed to be enveloping a tall, thin girl, with a twist of golden hair down her back that he was sure he'd met before. She was dancing wildly and passionately, and she looked very sexy as she did so, bobbing her head to the beat, holding an empty tankard of what looked like the remains of fire-whiskey high over her head, as if signaling for more. Sure enough, a timid looking busboy dawdled over and re-filled the mug with a flaming scarlet liquid, and with a wide grin, she took a sip. When the tankard had parted from her lips, she let out a wave of maniacal, but somehow delicate laughter, and continued to absorb herself in the clumsily moving crowd.  
  
Curiously, Draco made his way to a still-standing table, and climbed upon it with agility to have a closer look. "Oy, oy!" He called sharply. The golden-locked girl looked up suddenly, her gaze meeting Draco's, and broke into an attractive smile.  
  
"Are you a Hogwarts student?" She shouted across the sweep of people still robotically dancing about her. He nodded.   
  
"If you'll excused me fore being rude, but what in the flying hell is going on?"  
  
"Good question!" She yelled back defiantly. "A party."  
  
"Obviously!" He screeched at her. "I'm Draco Malfoy. And you are...?" Perhaps it was just his imagination, or maybe it was just the dim light, but Draco could have sworn he saw her smile flicker and fade ever so slightly.   
  
"I'm Aurora. Aurora Fudge."  
  
* * * 


End file.
